Isabelle Hart never fit in, being bullied daily at school and working nonstop to pay off your mothers drug debt wasn't the best thing a 17 year old wanted to do in their last year of high school.
What happens when Isabelle is assigned to work as a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
~ Isabelle ~
Running
It seems like it's all I do.
The sound of the soles of my shoes slamming onto the wet pavement, the burning sting in my legs with every push forward, the odd stares from the people around me.
It was all normal for me.
I hear their laughs, their sick laughs as they run ahead of me, throwing around my backpack like it was a toy.
" Come and get it Hart!" He yells, excitement laces his rough voice from all the cigarettes he smokes.
That was Evan Samson. He's been smoking since he was six years old and found enjoyment in my pain. Along with his other minions, Jacob Landors, Emma Rems, and Peter Flowsky they had only one goal.
To make my life a living hell.
I could feel my heart drumming through my chest
I don't know how long I've been running for, but I couldn't let them have my backpack, the one thing I treasured most.
It was the last piece of my father I had left with me, the last item he gifted me before he died. I was only 9, and didn't understand the idea he would never come back.
Until my mother. She'd been so sad, I don't think I've ever seen anyone as heartbroken as her, mainly because she would cope with drugs. Drugs we couldn't afford to be getting.
And when she overdosed, all that debt came onto me.
I feel the pain in my throat, the one right before I can't stop controlling my tears. My hair was wet from the rain, my clothes soaked, and my voice nearly gone as I screamed and begged for them to give it back.
They wouldn't.
This was only the beginning after all.
They turn into an alleyway, laughing like a pack of hyenas and I, like the idiot I am, follow them in.
I was trying to catch up with my breath, my wet hair sticking to my face and the rain only getting heavier by now.
They look at me, hold the backpack out for my reach, and watch me in hilarity as I move closer, thinking I could just grab it and run.
" Go on, don't be so scared." Peter Flowsky utters, moving the backpack closer to my reach.
I look at them standing around me in a circle now as I feel my hand on the old backpack that had been with me since elementary.
I try taking it, but Peter has a strong grip on it, a wicked smirk on his face as he looks at his friends.
" Don't you want the backpack? Take. It." He shouts in my face, and I stumble back at his voice, feeling my throat closing and my heart racing when I realize what was about to come.
